Physical therapy. Again.

He swore he was gonna be going home with every single problem he could at this rate. Go out for drinks, come home poisoned, go to get a dog back for it's owner. Come home with a flayed face and more broken bones than unbroken ones. 

God damn did everything hurt too, christ, he hadn't expected it to hurt so much for so long. 

For now though, he had to keep himself on the straight and narrow. Learn to steady his hands and finally. 

Learn to take the energy he needed from the world around him. 

The energy that once tethered his dead and dying patients to reality could be harnessed, the shards of their souls used to form connections to others and finally.

To draw it into himself, or to pour his own vital energy into others but regardless. 

With practice, this power would be the answer to his prayers, and he would no longer be beholden to the limitations of modern medical science and with further research he knew that he could grant animus to more. 

Though for now, he had no further time to practice and after securing the purchase of his private jet he would take what other funds he had set aside and begin operations with Joe Scruggs, Eden Artha, and Ronnie Bram. There were after all, such wonderful gifts out there. Just waiting to be snatched. There were injuries that needed to be healed properly first though, and he would need to stay in the back of future fights if he wanted to have a prayer of healing well enough to live to use this power, but with just a single step forward. He would be able to grasp so, so, much more. 

Well, whoever said that the rich don't face justice?

Gideon did.

Gideon said that. 

Because exactly as had been foretold taking the plea deal had resulted in him getting out of jail scot-free, the money would've been nice sure but he couldn't spend it while behind bars, and taking that kind of bait was the first step in being an absolute moron who spent the rest of their life behind bars.

Not to mention the now-deceased Johnny Law's final middle finger from the grave in immediately providing his go pro to the police before Gideon could have it destroyed, he also didn't want to take any kind of chance on that. 

Though the trial was over, the future was looking bright, and Gideon was walking out of the courthouse for the first time in months a truly free man.

It was enough to bring a tear to one's eye.

However, just because it was your first day out of prison didn't mean that your troubles would stop looking for you, but Gideon was ready.

Spotting that bastard who had been stalking him since Russia in the courthouse he had been on the mark to snap a few pictures of them, and finally, he had a lead on the Ochre Order.

Ever since he'd left he'd hoped that they'd just leave him be, but when you have most of the organization's secrets inside your head you either accepted your position within it or they killed you. Hell, it'd cost the lives of more than a few dozen men just to get him out and secure his second identity, but it seemed as though his alias was no longer going to shield him, but that was fine.

Gideon was done running, and when he got home he began the process of preparing to take the fight to them, retraining and sharpening his sneaking skills from the ground up as he readied himself for what was to come. 

Work had to be done.

First in getting his corrupt cop buddies to scrub all references to his past crimes, and second, in building up something more.

Money had to be spent to do this of course, but if there was one thing Gideon had in spades it was funds secreted in accounts all around the world. 

First, was collaborative work with Raphael. Sending him funds and securing building permits for a building that on paper, was intended for medical research. An easy enough feat to pull with his contributions to global society and stalling the development of superbugs with his little creative sidestep around anitbiotics. He was quite well known among those who gave a shit after all, but then again, those who didn't give a shit rarely mattered. 

Next was securing a stockpile of poisons, gas grenades, and the like. Another lesson he had learned is how important it was to be able to disable your opponents rather than just outright kill them, and well. He'd seen enough dead kids for this lifetime, and he'd like to be able to contribute to a fight without having to go so loud that he'd alert the entire god damn town to his presence.

So, his first pick up was the iconic curare poison, the next was some knockout gas grenades, and lastly enough cynaide filled syringes that he'd be able to handle any assholes who decided to get fresh. Didn't need but a few seconds for total muscle paralysis to kick in with that, and he didn't exactly care if he left a trail of bodies anymore with the cops on his payroll ready to clean them up. 

With this though, he was adjusting to contractor life, embracing it, and soon.

He'd have control of more than a few employees. 

The nightmares were.. persistent. 

All of them about the same thing.

A cicada emerging from the cocoon of his body, and the endless chittering. 

Yet, Gideon had seen this God's face and come away unscarred. Telling him that it was not immutable, not undefeatable. 

So, despite the terrors that plagued his dreams Gideon knew.

He knew that a God could die. 

A fact that gave him some comfort when what happened to Luci happened next. As he knew then what his new life's mission was.

Harbingers thought they could bring someone onto a contract and then torture them, [b]RAPE[/b] them because of something as simple as victory?

They accomplished the conditions that were set out for them yet in all their impotent, petty, fury they sent killers after him? Sent rapists after their weakest? 

There was no longer room for negotiation for this. Not after Gideon felt everything that happened to her as he transfered the wounds off of him. The harbinger had gone too far, taken too much.

He knew he was facing off against someone who could scan him in under half an hour and clone him, but he didn't care. This harbinger had tricks, so did fucking he, and he purchased a class 3 tax stamp and began the measures for preparing for war.

First was buying the cops in Goshen Indiana. You want to establish some bullshit around all this? Fine. 

He went in for questioning and gave them honest answers. Not even sodium penathol or a lie detector would be able to ever get dirt on him or connect him to the strange dark skinned man who murdered that intern, next was to host the police man's ball.

Paying off the locals, becoming a figure in their culture, and offering cut rate security systems was all part of the plan. Yet, despite this progress Gideon went to bed so angry each night that his eyes were practically bloodshot when they awoke. 

This new driving force, would not go away, he would not allow his fury to abate. 

No, Dr.Wondertainment was going to die, and he was going to ensure that when that bitch popped up next she was going to know the fury of a man with godly aspirations who seeks to see them driven before them, and to hear their lamentations of someone driven to utter despair.